Shooting Star
by itsjustme1217
Summary: Based on the Bad Company song of the same name. Edward Masen grew up loving music and enjoying the way it affected those around him. He works hard to obtain a dream but when he finally reaches his goal, will he find the result intolerable? AH


**I'm With The Band O/S Contest via Wayward Pushers **

**Prompt Used: **Quote Prompt #1

**Rating: **M

**Pairing: **Edward

**Genre:**Tragedy

**Word Count: **2688

**Summary: **Based on the Bad Company song of the same name. Edward Masen grew up loving music and enjoying the way it affected those around him. He works hard to obtain a dream but when he finally reaches his goal, will he find the result intolerable?

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. Bad Company owns the song. I own the order these words were strung together.

**1964**

Edward Masen was five years old when he heard The Beatles on the radio. The song "Love Me Do" floated through the air of his small ramshackle home. His mother was cooking dinner and his father was reading the newspaper but neither objected when young Edward turned the radio louder.

Edward watched as his father's boot began tapping to the rhythm. The small boy stood in awe as his mother came slinking into the living room, singing along, and swaying her hips toward his father. When Edward Sr. lay his paper down and stood to grab his wife around the waist to dance her around the room, Edward smiled.

Edward closed his green eyes, drumming his tiny fingertip on his jean covered knee, and listened to his parent's happy laughter mingle together with the melody and lyrics of the music. Edward learned a secret that day. Music made people happy.

Every night Edward would request the radio and would sit quietly as his mind took in how the lyrics, melody, and rhythm worked together to bring a story to life.

**1969**

When Edward was ten tears old his father did not come home from work. His mother shouted at him for turning on the radio as she paced in front of the window. Edward watched as she walked faster and faster, throwing her arms in the air from time to time.

Soon he closed his eyes and listened to the steps of her feet on the hard wood floors and as she muttered to herself with breathy sighs. Young Edward found a rhythm and melody in her movements and utterances and he was soothed by it. It was on this day that Edward learned that music could be heard everywhere. It was in everything that held life inside of it.

Edward's father would never return home again. Instead, a police car pulled up in front of the house. The short balding man in the uniform stepped onto the front porch and rapped on the door. Edward stood in the corner of the room and watched as his mother fell to her knees screaming while the officer sadly explained about a mine cave-in and no survivors.

Two days later, Edward stood beside his mother in a small church filled with the residents of his small town and five black caskets. He listened to the pastor's words and the soft crying. He felt his mother's hand squeezing his own too hard. When the choir stood to sing "Amazing Grace" Edward watched as the grief-stricken crowd began to sing along. Edward was shocked to learn that music was consoling, it soothes the soul.

**1971**

Edward's mother did not laugh anymore. She barely got out of bed and rarely cooked. Her face was hollow with sunken in cheeks and large purple smudges beneath from lack of sleep. She stayed in her house robe most days and he could not remember the last time he had seen her eat. Edward lay in his own bed every night listening as she wept in her room.

Edward, being the man of the house now took it upon himself to lighten his mom's mood and make her smile again. He worked every day after school, delivering newspapers to the large homes with sprawling lawns. On weekends, he collected bottles, even digging through the trash sometimes to retrieve them.

It took him six months but with the cash from his returns and his route, Edward rode his bike into town to the Second Hand Rose Consignment Shop and purchased the wooden, stringed guitar from the window display. He knew that God was smiling down on him when he found the eight track with The Beatles name emblazoned across the front.

Edward listened to "Love Me Do" over and over as he perfected his technique on the new guitar. As he played, Edward found he was able to allow all of his emotions to flow out through his fingers and into the music. Soon Edward stopped the player and let the thoughts and feelings inside of him to guide the music. Edward learned that music not only brought happiness to those that listened to it but was just as freeing to the person who composed it.

He played for his mother that night and to his immense satisfaction his mother smiled warmly at him. With tears in her eyes, she ruffled his hair and said she would make him a grilled cheese sandwich.

**1976**

Edward had found that some of the boys in his school felt the same way about music as he did. They would meet after school and practice together. They made up songs and riffs. They laughed and drank and they played. When the principal of their small high school asked the boys to play the music for the senior prom they could not have been any more happier.

That is until prom night when Edward watched as the girls in the pretty dresses left the dance floor and their dates behind to step closer to the stage. He saw the delight and admiration on their faces and the promises of warm nights in their eyes. He listened as they clapped and shrieked for more when their set was finished. Edward felt there was no end to the happiness that could be found in music.

Backstage, after the show, there were girls lined up outside Edward's dressing room. They asked for autographs and hugs. They told him how beautiful he was and asked to touch his hair. Edward left the school that night with a particularly beautiful brunette. She was a year older than him; a senior. He had sat next to her all year in Biology but tonight was the first she had looked at him.

When the other girls had left giggling, she had taken Edward's hand and led him to the parking lot. That night in the back of a Dodge Charger, he learned a very important lesson. Women love music!

**1977**

Edward had spent the year playing in local clubs. Playing for girls and playing for his mom. It's all he wanted to do. Edward's grades slipped and he quit the basketball team. These things took away from his songwriting.

What little time Edward was not singing and strumming, he was thinking. Thinking about how small this town is. Thinking about how everyone talks the same and thinks the same. Edward thought about how his music would never be heard if he didn't escape this town. Sensations of being trapped, shackled and suffocating, kept him awake at night. He thought about how most people live and die with their music still unplayed because they never dare to try.

Still, he graduated and hours later he played his guitar and sang songs around a campfire at the beach while all of his friends partied. Edward had spoken with his band mates earlier in the day. They all had plans for college or jobs that were awaiting them. Edward wanted something more.

He lay his guitar aside and leaned back against a piece of driftwood and thought of the future. Edward counted the stars in the sky and watched as they grew brighter and floated through the night. What Edward saw there in the darkened sky is what he wanted for his own life. He wished to float through the darkness of life from place to place, providing a small piece of light and beauty for people.

The next morning with a backpack, 2 small duffel bags and his guitar, Edward kissed his momma goodbye and left her crying at the door as he set out on his own mission to make the world a better place.

**1981**

At 21, Edward had spent the last three years hitchhiking his way across the country. He played in bars when the owners approved his act. When he couldn't play or catch a ride, he slept in hotel rooms and sometimes on park benches. Edward found it increasingly amusing that in juxtaposition on nights when he was able to play, he spent his nights in the bed and arms of a woman and always had a ride out of town before the sun was up in the morning sky. Music brought him luck.

In a small college bar in Houston, Texas Edward played and sang while in the corner a tall blond man sat listening and sipping a scotch. This particular man worked for a company that produced music. When the set was complete he approached Edward. The two men shared a drink, signatures, and a handshake.

Two days later Edward sat in a recording studio playing his music while the man recorded using special equipment Edward had never heard of. When he had finished singing his last song, six hours had passed and the man smiled and said they had enough for a record.

**1982**

Edward sat on a king size bed in an upscale hotel room and his car sat in the parking lot. The record company had given him some money and Edward had sent some home to his mother. He still called her every Friday night and sang her a song. He smiled to himself and turned over to flip on the radio sitting on the bedside table.

When the music filtered through the air, Edward stood to make a trip to the restroom. Upon his return, he heard the disc jockey announce the next artist and Edward's eyes filled with tears when his name was spoken.

He danced along to his song as if it was the first time he had heard it. He jumped and yelled and was filled with an incredible sense of accomplishment. Before the song was finished there was a knock at the door where the man stood smiling.

"Pack your bags Edward, you are going on tour."

**1985**

Edward spent three years on tour. He rode in a bus with the other members of the band drinking and laughing as the miles flew by. They played cards and smoked cigarettes. They wrote songs and told stories. Edward never lacked for female companionship. No matter what city they were in, there was always a warm and willing body within arm reach.

People paid to come see him perform all over the United States. He spent hours with fans signing autographs. He listened as they told him how much his music meant to them and spoke about his genius. He answered questions for radio stations and even news crews. His name in lights and print everywhere he looked.

On stage, he felt his chest swell with pride as thousands of people screamed his name. Looking out upon the crowd, he saw the posters with his name and words of undying love plastered on them. Women sat on others shoulders and raised their shirts when they caught his eye. Men and women would raise lighters to the air when he sang a ballad. It looked to Edward like stars flickering in the moonlit sky.

Today he returns to the studio to begin a new album hoping to repeat the success of the first.

**1990**

At 31 years old Edward once again sits in the studio. This time for album number five. He is tired. So tired. He doesn't sleep well anymore. He drinks himself into oblivion nightly but still lies wide awake. His music appears to be all the better for it. At least that's what everyone keeps telling him as they smile and pat him on the back.

He still enjoys an array of womanly comforts but it bothers him that he can't remember their names or faces. They don't know him. No one knows him. He has no friends that do not want something from him. He feels betrayed and cheated. He has traveled all over the world yet has no memory of anything he has seen but the inside of hotels, stadiums, and barrooms.

It occurs to Edward that the stars he was so hell bent on capturing are too far away. Every time he gets close the fire burns too hot for him too touch. They flicker violently in the night sky and then streak away into nothingness. Edward feels empty.

The man comes in to the room with Edward and tosses a bag containing white powder into his lap. The man speaks about contracts and responsibilities as he retrieves a razor blade and tiny straw from a leather pouch hooked to the inside of his belt. Edward watched with rapt attention what the man did with the white powder. Then, he did the same.

Suddenly, Edward felt much better. He felt as if he had slept for a month. He felt like he could run a marathon. Ideas flooded his mind and Edward felt that he could neither write nor play fast enough. He sang the rest of the day as the man smiled and recorded.

**1997**

Edward is 38 years old and he is exhausted. The white powder covering every flat surface in his condo no longer helps. Neither do the pills he has stashed in the sock drawer of his dresser, the glove compartment of his BMW, or in the kitchen freezer.

His nose burns and bleeds profusely. His stomach aches and he vomits endlessly. His chest feels tight from too much smoking. The track marks in his arms cause his skin to itch. His head feels light, his fingertips numb, and he has a hard time swallowing.

The newspapers call him a has-been. The man called him old news. No one wants to hear his music anymore. They call it outdated. He doesn't have the strength to climb out of bed but he knows he will have to when the shaking from the lack of alcohol racks his body.

He wants to go home but he has no home. His mom died years ago and he sold the house without ever going back. It seemed unimportant at the time. The money and women are gone. He is lonely and bitter. He has no wife or anyone close to him. He has nothing of his own but the guitar that lays useless next to the bed. He hates himself and in turn, everything around him. Edward sees nothing but his own misery. He feels nothing but failure.

Still because of his vices, he hauls himself up and out to the bar for a drink. Then, to the alley behind the bar for the rest of the drugs he has come to depend on. In the bathroom he places sunglasses over his eyes and then laughs cruelly at his reflection. It was doubtful anyone would notice him and no one that did would care.

**1998**

Edward Masen died in his bed in Palm Springs sometime during a Tuesday night at 39 years old. His body was found in the early morning hours by the cleaning lady. Police say drugs were scattered amongst the home. Neighbors say Mr. Masen could be heard playing music and weeping through the night. Doctors say his body was malnourished and dehydrated. They also identified at least thirteen types of drugs in his system.

It is unclear whether this was an overdose or suicide.

Weeks later the cleaning lady confided that the home was in complete disarray. Dishes and windows were broken. Furniture was turned over and tables upturned. Clothes and various papers were strewn about the floors. In the bedroom, where Edward's guitar hung on the wall, he had clearly written two words in huge red letters.

Shooting Star


End file.
